TG Price of Salt
by brandi4554
Summary: A TG re-imagining of The Price of Salt in modern day


Hi all

I'm new here. I watched Carol when it appeared on Netflix in September. I ordered and read the book, and watched the movie again last week. I was inspired to write.

I realize that this may not be the "cup of tea" of many Price of Salt fans. I hope it is not "blasphemy!"

I got the idea that a re-imagining of this story, as a transgender love story in modern day, might entail the same tensions and drama as a lesbian love story in the early 50s.

I am a 53-yo, mostly closeted MtF transgender woman. Sexually, I identify as lesbian. (And, at the risk of over self-consciousness, I think that is a harder place to be, than being a "genetic lesbian…" In 1952, or now…)

I have contrived to bring in the same period visuals as the original. I love the classic era, and want to keep my characters visually in The Price of Salt, but societally in the current world, where Caitlin Jenner can be on the cover of Vanity Fair, where my potential Therese may exist, but is still impossible to find…

This is still very much a work-in-progress. As I see everyone say, feedback, and ideas for my missing pieces-parts, requested.

Since I am new here, I am posting this preamble first, to make sure it posts, and goes where I intend it to go. If it does, I will re-edit with the beginnings of my story.

Author's editorial notes are enclosed in (parentheses), in _italics_ , and preceded by "Ed."

The Price of Salt (A modern, transgender, re-imagining of Carol)

Therese considered her job at the Lancome counter at Sak's to be her dream job. Not that it paid handsomely, or had "a future," as her more practical acquaintances often reminded her. She simply felt "right" there.

She loved the whole appearance of the first floor, with its Art Deco styling. She knew the Galleria was built in the late 60s—Had the fixtures in Sak's been brought in from another store, one built in a more beautiful era? All that was missing was an elevator operator, announcing, "Third floor. Women's lingerie…"

Therese always felt she was born in the wrong era. She loved the glamour of the 30s, 40s and 50s. She loved the veneer of simplicity and order, in combination with the knowledge that reality then was just as real and complex, as reality is now. Just more subtle. She was fascinated by the tension between appearance and truth, the public and the private. She believed in the importance of "appearances," but with an honestly and objectivity that reveled in the fact that behind those facades were real emotions and real dramas, all the more dramatic because they were shielded behind the glamour. The idea of couples mingling at a cocktail party. Then, the next day, the wives sleeping with someone else's husband, and their husbands, maybe, sleeping with their bachelor co-workers. It was all so exciting, better than any soap opera. Today's world seemed so dull in comparison—"friends with benefits," and unlimited sharing on Facebook and Twitter. No secrets to share, in hushed, confidential tones, to a best girlfriend over coffee the next morning. Just announcing on your online status, "Slept with George last night. I've had better. Text for details."

Therese always felt, perhaps, just a little silly, filling her wardrobe with anything she found that looked like it was from that era. She scoured resale shops, but most authentic clothes were priced out of her reach. But every now and then she found something she liked from the "medium-priced" retailers. Today she had on her favorite. An emerald green dress, with short cap sleeves, fitted down to a flounce at mid-thigh, with a black lace overlay on each side at the waist. Black back-seam stockings (on black garters) led down her slender legs to black suede d'Orsay pumps, her red toes just peeping out. (She did love that today she could get shoes with much higher, sexier, heels than back then. There was _something_ to be said for progress, she smiled to herself when shoe shopping.) Behind the beautiful "retro" counter at Sak's she did not feel at all silly. She knew that all the other salesgirls, in their modern clothes, were the silly ones.

She noticed the customer as soon as she rounded the Chanel counter between herself and the entrance. She was tall and slender, with wavy blonde hair, just past her shoulders. She wore a bronze satin dress, perfectly fitted, to just above her knees. There was a perfectly feminine curve, from her small bust, to her slender waist, and then to just a bit of hips, just right for a girl, which you couldn't miss. The body of a teenage girl, dressed as a woman for the first time, for her first such "special occasion." Although rather tall, she walked with perfect poise and elegance in very high pumps, brown, but with a gold metallic that tied to the bronze dress. Her red painted toes peeped out, just as Therese's did, but through nude hose. She also wore a tan fur stole. Therese had spent enough time in high-end resale shops to immediately know it was real, and recognized that it was truly vintage by the slight yellowing at the edges. In fact, she suspected she even knew the recent provenance of this particular piece. Hadn't she recently admired this same stole, and stopped herself from even glancing at the tag?

Upon reaching Therese's counter the enchanting customer spoke only a short phrase—"La Vie est Belle."

The voice she heard mesmerized Therese. The tone and inflection were every bit as feminine as the dress, shoes, and the woman's perfume wafting gently across the counter. But the pitch was lower than she anticipated. She loved the "husky voiced" actresses of the classis era, and that of Kathleen Turner in more modern films. But she realized she didn't love this voice because it reminded her of those. She had only loved those voices because they hinted at the possibility of this one.

Although no other words passed between them, no cordial greeting or small talk, Therese knew they had connected, even flirted, through their faces, their mouths, and expressions.

After their eyes remained locked for an undeniable moment, Therese turned to get the new perfume from the cupboards behind her. She suspected that her attempt to appear elegant and dignified perhaps only magnified the nervousness and awkwardness she felt. But, despite those insecurities, she fantasized that, as she bent to the lower cabinet, the beautiful customer was admiring her black back-seam stockings and pretty shoes.

(I don't know how they re-connect. The means by which they do in the book or movie do not translate to present day. And, while, in some ways it is even easier to "connect" today, both of these girls shun those modern means, each for their own different, but similar reasons… Once they do…)

"I'd love to bring you to a party I'm going to Saturday night. It will be 'dressy,' but we'll be comfortable there. Hardly 'dressy,' like if you were to 'socialize' with your other customers from Sak's."

Therese could hear the quotes in Carol's voice, and they both laughed at the juxtaposition of their being "dressy," and "socializing," in the context of their (Therese hoped) relationship.

After work the next day Therese found a small envelope under the wiper of her Hyundai. Inside was a note, as she hoped, from Carol:

 _Hi Love_

(Therese wondered whether it was a friendly "Hi Love," or the more meaningful "Hi Love" she hoped it was…)

 _You know I LOVE your wardrobe (THAT word again…), but come over casual tomorrow at 4. I want to dress you._

 _Hugs and Kisses,_

 _Carol_

The address for the house followed.

It was a large house in the Heights, perhaps a century old, give or take 20 years… Built when architects were struggling with the tension between some sort of style, and rapidly expanding "suburbia." Back when "Suburbia" meant both having room for a family, and taking a streetcar downtown.

Carol had restored the exterior, and remodeled the interior, generously. (Therese had no doubt that the remodeling was Carol's doing, a single girl taking advantage of so many square feet.)

After pleasantries and Tom Collins's, Carol led Therese upstairs. Entering the most beautiful bedroom Therese had ever seen, Carol announced, "This is your—uh—the guest, bedroom.

"There's the bath (pointing to a tall door, with an open glass transom window overhead) where you can shower."

As Carol began undressing her, Therese tensed and hesitated for a moment. She thought, "So THIS is what she meant by 'dressing me.'"

Carol removed all of Therese's clothes, down to her cotton panties, in an almost business-like fashion. "Enjoy your shower, and come back out in your panties."

Carol left the room, and Therese entered the bathroom. It was an enormous bathroom. Carol had clearly converted a connected bedroom into a bath, with all of the attendant re-plumbing. Therese turned on the shower, and fished a pair of sexy, lacy white panties from her purse, which she had covetously kept with her as they went upstairs. The purse, and panties, had been kept, in anticipation, an anticipation that she could still not decide was justified, or not…

Upon exiting the steamy shower, she dried herself with the most luxurious, snow-white towel she had ever felt, and thought to herself, this may have been the most wonderful, and exciting, shower she had ever taken. (She eventually remembered, at some point in the future, but totally forgot in that moment, how she had touched herself during that shower, bringing herself just short of "there.")

Just as she pulled the pretty white panties over her fresh, clean, naked body, the door on the other side of the bathroom opened, and Carol stepped in. (In her renovations Carol had ensured that the giant bathroom was shared by both the "guest" bedroom, and her own.)

Carol said, "I heard the shower go off, and I waited as long as I could."

She took both of Therese's hands in her own, and led her into her own bedroom.

Therese stood motionless, both appalled by the reality, that what she had subconsciously wished for was coming true, and her innate shyness. (And she knew that the innate shyness was also what WANTED this "adventure," this "secret.")

Carol first opened a package of panty hose. Therese recognized the name of the brand.

She only looked at fashion magazines while waiting in the salon, and flipped through them rather quickly. But when she did spot something she liked, she read the caption. "Dress—designer so-and-so, $XXX. Shoes—other designer, $XXX. Hose—designer something else, $XX." Therese's real stockings were not cheap, unlike the $2 panty hose at the drugstore, but this was extravagant.

Therese rolled up the right leg and slipped it over her pretty red-painted toes and heel. Carol mumbled sheepishly, "Let me help you, they're delicate," as she gently rested her right hand over Therese's. With her left Carol loosely gripped the hose next to Therese's left hand, and brushed it gently up the smooth, soft leg, just above the rising hose. The process was repeated on the left leg, in perfect mirror image; Carol pulled away her right hand, between Therese's thighs, only at the last moment before it would have brushed Therese's panties.

Therese was amazed at how they felt so much better than even her $12 stockings, the best available. (These days, real stockings were a novelty item, and over priced, existing only for the "sex" market.)

Therese stood to finish, and while she pulled the waistband up as tightly as she could with one hand, she cupped the other over the new hose between her legs. She let a middle finger re-kindle the excitement she had felt in the shower. She knew that Carol had noticed.

Therese could not help but stand and admire herself in the stand-up mirror. The hose were beautiful, and fit perfectly. Seeing her white lacy panties under the fine nude panty hose made her feel herself attractive. And her bare breasts… She loved them, but should she? Her nipples were responsive, and, as far as she could tell from her limited experience, large. Did that matter? How did she compare? She had watched a smidge of "mainstream porn," and had had the sense to dismiss all of it out of hand. Even if it DID reflect what men want, did that matter to her…? Or to Carol…?

Her questions were answered shortly, as Carol stepped close behind her, wrapped her arms around her, and cupped her breasts. Carol squeezed Therese's nipples quickly between her fingers, then dropped her arms, and resumed acting, to Therese's mind, like a "girl friend."

Had that left Therese with any doubts, Carol followed with "You have the most beautiful breasts, and… and… nipples… in the world!"

Any self-consciousness on Therese's part dissipated.

 _(Ed. What is Carol wearing? Is she dressed? Perhaps in a short white slip. With pantyhose? Stockings and garters?)_

The cocktail party was a world Therese had only imagined could possibly exist. About a quarter of the attendees were men. They flirted shamelessly with about half of the women there, who seemed to love the attention, but also bemoan the ratio. There were also a few men who Therese believed were female to male transgendered. They tried to flirt with the women, but it seemed that they only got attention in what appeared to be existing friendships. Some of the other women were clearly shy and trying to overcome their discomfort. The rest mingled and flirted with each other, and tried to make the shy girls feel comfortable. All almost all of the woman there were "girls like Carol." Therese was ecstatic to be in a world of transgender folks and their admirers.

Carol introduced Therese to a few of her friends, but they mostly spent the evening in only each other's company, like any newly infatuated couple. Carol introduced Therese to Manhattans; Therese got Carol to try her favorite beer. They danced to almost every slow song. Although their hands had touched other in the dressing room, now, for the first time, their whole bodies pressed together. They held each other tightly, caressing and exploring each other's bodies as they swayed and turned to the music.


End file.
